


Come With Me

by Lakeylou



Category: The Blacklist (TV)
Genre: F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-04
Updated: 2015-07-04
Packaged: 2018-04-07 11:14:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,412
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4261248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lakeylou/pseuds/Lakeylou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lizzie's name has officially been cleared and she is set to return back to DC and the task force. Red surprises Lizzie by telling her he will not be returning. Lizzie&Red.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Come With Me

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own The Blacklist or the characters. Thanks heaps for kudos and comments on my other ones. :)

On a rainy, miserable Saturday evening, Lizzie reads on the sofa. A deep maroon woolen blanket drapes over her legs and another, thicker, fleece blanket covers her shoulders. Red lit some candles earlier which diffuse a calming vanilla scent, it's nice considering the horrific novel she is absorbed in. She uses the lamp on the side table for a soft light. She is halfway through the terrifying thriller when Red taps her on the shoulder from behind. If she had been armed, Red would have lost an arm. Her body jolts from his touch and the novel slips from her grip.

As if burned from the contact, Red snatches his hand back.

“By god, Lizzie. Are you alright?”

“Sorry." She flicks through her book to find the correct page then bookmarks it with a teared piece of newspaper. "I thought you were still on the phone to Dembe. I didn’t hear you.”

Red extends a hand, a slim flip phone opened in his grasp. “You have a call.”

She eyes the phone cautiously. “For me?”

Liz has not spoken to anyone for months, and she has not been privy to the majority of Red’s phone calls. He shares any important, relevant news with her, but otherwise continues to assure her it is a work in progress. They were making steady steps toward her freedom, but it would take time. Surely it wasn’t Dembe wanting to speak with her. However, she couldn't imagine who else it would be. 

“Who is it?”

“I’ll be starting the fire in the other room.”

“Red!” Lizzie calls after him, and though he slows his pace and hesitates, he doesn't turn around. Liz looks down at the phone in her hand, the bold black numbers do not ring any bells. She can barely remember her old number.

"Hello?"

It was Ressler. He really was one of the last people she had expected to call. He had good news and his high spirits were evident through his proud, authoritative tone. The Cabal had been destroyed and her name has officially been cleared. Officially, he said. And he said it a few more times because Liz fails to offer him some sort of reply. She was welcomed to come back to DC and return to the task force. 

As Ressler speaks, she eyes the open door to the other room wondering if Red could hear her confused, short answers. Had he known? And how long for? She was in a state of quiet shock before Ressler starts scolding her for not sounding more enthusiastic. She laughs then, snapping out of her blurry mood and beginning to feel slightly giddy. Ressler beams for a little longer and when they end the call, with promises to keep in contact over the coming days, she still can't quite believe it. 

That was until she pads into the other room where Red was working diligently with the kindling. He senses her skepticism immediately and to reassure her worries, dials Cooper, passes the phone back to Lizzie and allows the other man to confirm the news for a second time.

Cooper, who had been reinstated just three weeks ago, told her they would need to play it safe. To let the media interest die down before she returned.

“Two months, Agent Keen.”

Agent Keen, her mind repeats.

She was already an Agent again. So, she better start feeling like one

The following two weeks after the phone call, Red seems quietly pleased with the news as well. He isn't ecstatic and grinning like Liz had become, but he was proud of her and delighted at her joyful mood. One morning over breakfast he speaks so casually to her while eating scrambled eggs. Tells her that she's been through such an awful, tiresome ordeal, but she would only return to the task force stronger. 

“You deserve this, Lizzie.”

She can't decide whether it was the coffee warming her or Red’s comment. She went with the coffee only because it seems like the much safer option.

"You'll enjoy being back."

"You think?" 

With only a month left before Lizzie would arrive back to DC, Red starts making travel plans. It was another cool night when Liz changes into a pair of her most warm, comfortable sleep wear. They're navy blue with small crescent moons scattering the pants. Wearing her sleepwear in front of Red use to embarrass her immensely. Not anymore. Red is in the kitchen, the phone to his ear and a glass of wine in his other hand. He nods at her presence then slides her a glass of wine across the counter top. He does it so smoothly the liquid barely moves. She offers him a small smile and takes a sip. Her eyes scatter around the kitchen; stopping on the toaster, the coffee machine then the fridge magnets. She's unsure of how long Red will be on the phone. Usually, he takes the call in another room.

“Thank you, Dembe.”

Lizzie snaps her eyes back to him as Red pockets his phone. He hums, which is peculiar, then leans his forearms against the marble bench and stares at her for a moment before speaking.

“Dembe will be arriving in three weeks to take you back to DC safely.”

“Safely?”

“Let’s call it company.” 

Lizzie nods slowly, wondering for a moment how pleased Red must be to see Dembe again. Watching their brief hug when they left was touching, if not a little sad. She often thinks about who she missed, or who she had missing her. She hadn’t a friendship as close as Red did with Dembe. She pulls out one of the bar stools and sits herself down, trailing the pad of her forefinger along the condensation on the glass. Red had chosen white wine despite the dropping temperatures. It's refreshing, sweet and makes her think of home and summer and long sunlight hours. It also makes her think of their time in the Bahamas. If she had a proper passport, she'd have so many stamps.

After taking another sip, she glances back up at Red and he is watching her still, and rather strangely. Like her reaction to Dembe’s visit wasn't what he expected. Should she be surprised at Dembe arriving? Because she isn't, not at all. She'd even expected him earlier, perhaps months ago. She had nothing against the man, even got on rather well with him. Red's expression has her bewildered and instead of trying to decipher it, she asks him instead.

“What’s wrong?” 

She observes as his right eyebrow raises and four lines crease his forehead. She doesn't understand his continued surprise. She can see his tongue brush across his teeth and it’s the only sign she spots that tells her he’s nervous. For what, she’s unsure. Perhaps he doesn’t want to go home. Has he been enjoying their time on the run as much as she secretly has? Ever since the phone call from Ressler, the days have been peaceful, easy.

No running, no hiding. 

Red just sips his wine again, washing the cool liquid around in his mouth, as if he’s trying to decide whether it’s up to his standards. Obviously it's not because he deliberately disregards her question, turning on his heel to open the pantry doors. 

“Should I open another red or keep with the white?” 

“Red.”

“Red it is.”

Liz smiles a little. “No, Red. Reddington.” 

She hasn’t called him that in so long it sounds odd rolling off her tongue. At least it gets him to turn, a bottle of red clasped in his hand and he's caught off guard by her use of his last name. Red has never called her Agent Keen since they departed. Likely due to the fact she was no longer an agent. But, Elizabeth, he’s used a handful of times. It amuses her now when he uses it because it means she's pissed him off. Most of the time it’s over something minuscule like refusing to let him hang out her washing, or, on occasion, when they get in arguments because she’s just incredibly irritable and tired from their constant moving. Those times she provokes him, she knows.

“Tell me what’s wrong.”

He doesn’t sigh, he rarely does recently, but he blinks a few time in her direction. 

“What are you not telling me?” She asks.

“Lizzie,” He takes a step forward, depositing the new wine bottle on the flat stove top. This time his hands curl around the edge of the bench. “How would you feel if I gave you a list of the criminals you and the FBI have yet to catch?”

“Isn’t that what you’re already doing?”

“I was thinking more along the lines of a whole list. None of this slow moving, one at a time business.”

“Why would you do that?”

“I feel it would be easier. Dembe will keep me informed on your progress and I will be more of a … invisible informant. From a distance.”

“From a distance?” Lizzie repeats him, her mind processing what this means. 

Red doesn't reply at first, watches an array of emotions play across her face. Sometimes, he's no good with straight answers. This is one of those times, and he regrets it instantly.

And then, when she’s finally caught up, her heart sinks. She feels it drop and she feels sick and uneasy. Red just stands there, not helping her, and continuing to babble on about how good it would be for the FBI to not rely on him so much. 

“Independence I feel is what the-”

Lizzie interjects his gentle teasing by pushing her stool back, the rubber pads scrape along the floor boards and usually she would wince at such a sound. Red’s eyes snap to her and she watches as his pupils begin to focus. He’s been blocking out her reaction, rambling on about pointless things, barely looking her in the eye.

She stands then, crosses her arms and stares at him. 

“You’re not coming back?”

It's more of a statement than a question.

He licks his lips, moistening them and shakes his head in such an unbalanced way, he ends up watching her with a left head tilt. She tries very hard to ignore his innocent expression and focuses on the deep settling anger in her belly.

“No.”

Well, there's a straight answer when she needs it, but she swallows at hearing it, afraid she’s going to lose her temper with him. So, she bites the inside of her cheek, not quite hard enough to draw blood but enough to hurt. She blinks rapidly to prevent her eyes from letting a single tear slip. 

“Why not?”

He does sigh this time and she narrows her eyebrows at him. If he wants to act like this is nothing and a conversation he doesn’t feel the need to have she will, with everything in her, slap him. She’s made up her mind. She will slap him across the cheek. His right cheek because two weeks ago he was stung by a wasp on his left cheek. It swelled significantly and it might still be tender. She wants to slap some sense into him, sure, but she doesn't want to hurt him. They have spent months, months, alone together and with a week to go he’s finally, reluctantly deciding to tell her he wont be coming back. She ponders whether of not he can recognize her inner turmoil because his cheeks slacken and he suddenly looks deadly serious.

“Your life can now get back on track, you can live the life that you have always intended to live … This new chapter doesn’t need to be … ”

“Be what?” 

“There's no need for me to interfere, Lizzie. I think it’s time I step away.”

 

Dembe was due to arrive the next morning. Lizzie had been enjoying her last few weeks, convincing her mind that these weeks were holidays and she should make the most of them. Soon she would be working long hours on little sleep. Red had suggested she ease her way back into work, find an apartment and to please, for ‘the love of god, Lizzie, do not put yourself in any unnecessary danger.’ Liz rolled her eyes childishly but agreed, promising him that she would remain cautious. 

Red was not returning to DC. She's not sure if the FBI know this, but feels it will be safest to act oblivious. Apparently, he wants to keep his distance. Distance from her. She wants to tell him to not be absurd, but he seems adamant that his decision was crucial. During the first couple of months they were on the run together, he suffered from an unhealthy amount of guilt. His failed attempt to protect her gnawed away at him until she told him, in a rather strict manner, that he was to stop. To stop. As days and then months went by, she thought he'd gotten over it.

Obviously not, he was just very good at hiding it from her.

And here she thought she had learned his every expression.

Although she wasn’t entirely sure how she felt about his new arrangement, she agreed. No one could force Raymond Reddington to do anything.

But she could ask. 

she wasn’t sure how to do such a thing because asking Red to stay with her seemed like something she wouldn’t do.

She wasn’t sure if Red was aware of her behavior recently. Or if he was, he did not call her out on it. He stayed up late every night. Not once since their their time traveling together had she seen him walk to his bedroom at the end of the night. So now, in these last few weeks, Liz struggled to keep her eyes open as she sat beside him on the sofa attempting to read her book, or at the very least pretend to read it. Her eyes scanned the words on the page, her mind not really registering any of them. Her page flipping was at random and she kept twitching her toes to keep herself awake.

"Lizzie, go to bed.”

She blinks, her eyes feeling heavy and itchy. 

“I’m not tired.” 

"I don’t believe you.”

Lizzie scowls at him, tossing the book to the side. She must keep awake, and she would go as far as pinching herself if she had to. This was their last night alone together and she needed to extend it for as long as possible. She spotted Red’s wine glass on the coffee table in front of them and so she reached for it, finishing it off in a few mouthfuls. Red quirks an eyebrow at her but refrains from saying anything.

“Red.” Lizzie breathes after a moment, straightening her spine and turning her body toward him. “We need to talk.”

“Are you sure you’d not rather wait for the morning, Lizzie?”

“No, no right now is good.”

Red nods uncomfortably, shifting in his seat and with the awkward silence that follows, Lizzie changes her mind.

“I just wanted to say thank you.” She presses her lips firmly together. “For everything. I, I know I’ve lashed out numerous times and blamed you for so many things in my life, and I know it’s hard to believe when I say this but, I don’t feel as if your interfering… and… ”

“That’s very kind of you, Lizzie.”

She hasn't finished.

“Right, so, that’s it.” Lizzie nods, standing from the sofa. “Good night.”

She all but jogs out of the sitting room, bounds up the stairs missing two at a time, and once in the safety of her room, cocooned under the covers of her bed, she squirms, grumbling silently about her pathetic attempt to ask him to come home with her.

Liz enjoys seeing Dembe even more so than she had expected. After spending so much time with Red it was nice to see another friendly face. Red was over the moon with Dembe’s arrival, their embrace so long that Lizzie had the time to check her watch and see the second hand move for half a circle.

She excuses herself early on Dembe's first night because she wouldn’t be the only saying goodbye to Red. Dembe was returning with her. So, when Red and Dembe sat down to play chess, Liz retreated up to bed. Red had asked if she would like to join but she made some naff excuse about having a headache. In bed she tossed and turned, sleep failing to come. It was just after one in the morning when Lizzie succumbed to the fact that she would not be sleeping. She heard footsteps earlier and she waited to hear the door close down the hall. It must have been Dembe because the door didn't squeak and Red’s door always does.

After fifteen minutes of contemplating, Lizzie shuffles out of bed, and leaves her room. She creeps downstairs, multi-tasking by tying her hair into a loose ponytail. The room is lit when she steps onto the rugged brown mat which covers a good proportion of the glossy wood floor. It's very welcomed because she forgot to put socks on and her feet are freezing. She spots Red sitting on the sofa with his back to her and she immediately regrets coming down.

Instead of greeting him as any normal person would do she walks into the kitchen, blatantly ignoring him in case he turns. She reaches for a glass and begins to turn the tap when in the silence, she hears the leather squeak as Red turns.

“Lizzie. Are you alright?”

He sounds tired, his voice throaty and low and it's a very nice tone on him.

“I couldn’t sleep.” She replies, glancing at him then down to the glass in her hand. She fills it halfway and sips from it nervously.

“Do you want to talk?”

“About what?” She asks, walking out of the kitchen and resting her palm on the handrail of the staircase.

“About why you’re having trouble sleeping.”

“Oh.” She shakes her head. “No, I think I was just thirsty.”

“Lizzie, I’ve been in close quarters with you for more than half a year." He says, and she suspects he's amused. "I know all your little habits, most of your likes and dislikes and I certainly know when something is bothering you.”

“I’m fine.”

“No, you’re not.”

He hadn’t left his seat thankfully, but it didn’t make his stare any less scary. Even at a distance. While she was stuck between running back upstairs or going over to sit with him, she did wonder what little habits she had, or what ones he noticed, and debated whether to find that embarrassing or not.

“Sit with me.”

She should never have walked down the stairs. Now she was trapped and he was going to pry it out of her. Sweet talk her with his smooth, rumbling voice an trick her into spilling out her worries and wants. 

Sighing as if it was such a chore, Lizzie walks toward him and plops down on the sofa next to him. She feels annoyingly young right now, and if there was one thing she needed Red to understand, it was that she was no longer the little girl who needed protecting. She felt his gaze on her, on her warmed cheeks, and she stares straight ahead. The chess board he used earlier is still on the table, the pieces back in their homes.

“Did you win?”

“Two out of three.”

“That’s got to hurt your ego.”

She was yet to beat him. Red wasn’t the kind of man to go easy on her, which she appreciated. She was getting closer to winning though, she could feel it. As Red had apparently learned her habits, she was just, if not more observant than him. She was beginning to understand how he played.

“Indeed it did. No harm done, though. Dembe must have been practicing.”

“Why is Dembe not staying with you?” She asks, finally gaining the courage to look at him. His eyes are glassy and bright and she wonders why he just doesn't go to bed earlier.

“Dembe is an honest man, Lizzie. He enjoys doing what's right . He's eager to do more ...”

“Legal work?”

Red chuckles. “In a way, yes.”

“So, he’s going to work with us?”

“Yes. I think he’s quite looking forward to it, Lizzie. As are you.”

“Am I?”

“Are you?”

Liz rolls her eyes, looking away from him again. She needs to say something soon because it’s nearing on two and she’s afraid he’ll call it a night. 

“Yes I am.”

His lips twitch into a smile and it’s his only, silent reply.

And before she knows it, he’s folding the paper on his lap. She glances, rather alarmed, and he catches her wide eyes. His hands pause and then he picks up the paper, places it between them and leans closer to her.

“Alright, Lizzie, you need to tell me what is going on. Have I done something? Said something?”

“Yes.” She answers. “Yes you have,” she nods again, blinking at him.

“What have I done?” He seems genuinely confused, and she would love to spend time thinking about how sweet his expression is if her heart wasn’t racing, her mind scrambling for words to form some sort of coherent sentence.

“I want you to come back.”

He swallows, and if there’s a lump in his throat she can see him trying to try to remove it. Lizzie thinks that she’s finally taken a step forward, done something meaningful, when her mind or her heart, she’s not sure, betrays her.

“For work,” She adds.

“Ah,” Red’s face remains neutral, smooth as stone. “There’s no need to be alarmed. I have every faith in you and the task force. Dembe will be there to provide extra assistance when need be.”

“Okay.”

“I will keep in contact, of course. If it suits you.”’

She nods.

“Was that all?”

“Yes.” Lizzie nods, frowning as she does so. She had told him what she wanted to, it just didn’t take her preferred direction. Perhaps she was foolish to imagine him agreeing to her wishes. To picture him replying with a quick, ‘yes, I'd thought you’d never ask. I'd love to come back with you, Lizzie'

“No, wait.” She sighs, shooting an arm out to stop him from getting up. “Why don’t you want to come back?”

Red stills again, and she can tell from his pinched expression, that her questions are worrying him. 

"It’s not that I don’t want to, Lizzie. It’s more that I don’t need to.”

“But you want to?”

“I wouldn’t mind either way.”

“So you’re not really bothered?” 

“Lizzie.” He's all apologetic now, spreading his hands out as if he's surrendering. 

“No, it’s fine." She tells him, watching his pale hands begin to shake. "I just need you to tell me what you want.” 

"It's not that simple."

Lizzie chuckles as she closed her eyes. He was insufferable. Loving and warm and kind but the most infuriating man.

"Of course it's not. It never is with you, is it?"

"Lizzie-"

"Don't," She interrupts. "Don't Lizzie me just because you don't know what to say."

She lets out a frustrated puff of breath, and then smiles at him despite her irritation. He looks so solemn now, and unhinged and perhaps even a little awkward. His cheeks are tinged with pink and she's not sure if it's because of the fire in the other room or if she's just unsettled him. He's still wearing his formal attire, though his shirt his crumpled and half is hanging over the zip on his pants. It's quite scruffy but it suits him, tonight and maybe the next day it will to.

Her gaze travels back up to his face and she shakes her head at him because she doesn't know what else to say now. And being banned from saying her name has silenced Red completely. So, they sit together, Liz staring at his clothes and his chin and Red staring at her eyes and her cheeks and her hair.

"I will miss you."

She's taken back by his comment, and Liz swallows thickly. Her eyes sting just in the corners and she nods instead of smiles because after everything, she knows he understands her. He knows what she's thinking. She knows he does. He knows she wants him to stay, but it doesn't and won't change anything. That being said, she will tell him now and be prepared for the answer.

"Well, you don't have to miss me if you come back."

"I think-"

"Don't think," Lizzie stops him. "Red, don't think of all the reasons why you shouldn't. For once ... just do something that you want to. Don't think about anyone else, not me, especially not me." She stares at him. "What do you want to do?"

It feels like a long time has passed before the sofa dips and Red moves closer. Her eyes widen involuntary, and they follow his right hand, watch the underside of his right thumb as his arm raises, and his hand moves toward her cheek. Slowly, cautiously. It's such silent movement she can hear herself swallow.

Then the pad of his thumb touches her cheek, just below her cheek bone. Her eyes cross as she stares down at his thumb and he stares at her until she looks back up at him. And once she does, it's gone. His hand back on his lap and Lizzie wonders if the touch happened at all.

"What do you want?" He asks.

"What do i want you to do? That's hardly fair."

"No, what do you want, Lizzie?"

"I asked you first, Red."

"This feels oddly like middle school."

"It's been a long conversation and I feel we've gotten no where." Lizzie agrees.

"Oh, i don't know about that."

"Red," Lizzie sighs, dropping her head to the side and resting it on the back of the sofa. "I'm tired."

"Let me take you to bed."

Lizzie blinks at him, and she's not sure if it's his comment or his small smile and heavy eyes that he's struggling to keep open, but it's something. Something clicks. An epiphany she muses. 

She raises her head from the sofa cushion. 

"You're scared."

She watches as he grinds his jaw, there's a small twitch in his left cheek pulsing.

"Red, do you have feelings for me?"

She feels so warm.

"Yes."

 


End file.
